The Return of the Queen
by Xanders Gaurdian Angel
Summary: A variation on the Theme of In A Different World, not a rewrite of it though


**Title:** The Return of the Queen

**Author:** Xander's Guardian Angel

**Summary:** A variation on a theme not a rewrite of In A Different World

**Rating:** M

**Pairing:** X\C Potential

**Authors Notes:** I use UK not US dictionary.

2011: Recently went through a re-edited this, fixed a few typos I missed the last time I posted, and made some minor changes here and there. This is not a rewrite of In A different World, more a variation on the theme, without a lot of the extraneous writing that tried to keep the previous inline with cannon

**Warnings:** Adult themes and harsh language may be contained within this fic.

**Disclaimer:** Elements of Buffy and Angel do not belong to me and I am making no profit from this piece of speculative fiction.

He'd never stopped loving her.

In the time that she had been absent from his life, the wound her absence had caused had grown into a gaping chasm; a constant emptiness that had never really left him. He couldn't forget her – _never her_ – and given the choice never would. The Senior Partners and their cronies thought they could get away with it – put one over Alexander Harris – and incur no consequences; take away someone he loved – _a true Hero_ – and get away with it scot-free.

There was simply _no fucking way_ that was ever going to happen – not now – _not ever!_

They weren't going to get away with it – he wouldn't have allowed it seven years ago – and wouldn't allow it now. The intervening years had made him a man with connections and power, and a man with _absolutely no qualms_ about using them to get what he wanted. Putting the word out in the demonic communities had been a surprisingly easy decision. Unlike the rest of the Reformed Council, he didn't ascribe to the 'all human _good_; all demons _bad'_ attitude. He knew better than to generalise anything not human as automatically evil – hell he'd _almost married the Patron Saint of Scorned Women_ for Christ's sake!

The Council hadn't even been up and running a moth – and they were already showing signs of being no better than what they replaced – in point of fact in some ways they were _worse_ – some of the recent _'Gestapo'_ tactics they were using didn't sit well with him. So contacting Riley and getting what was left of the Demon Research Initiative to help him, pull the whole thing off hadn't needed any serious thought or consideration. Riley had asked no questions; the military understood these things and once he'd explained whom Cordelia was and what she'd done to help keep the world turning there hadn't been a need for him to ask, they'd all volunteered.

Then when he had informed them of what exactly had gone down in LA over the past four years, how The Powers That Be, the supposed _'good guys'_ had used and abused her, the aura of incandescent rage in the room had been palpable. They wanted to tare somebody a new ass hole for it and there preferred target was Angel. They'd pooled their assets and along with the info he'd gained through his own means they'd found her – _the real Cordelia Chase_ – _not that thing_ Angel and his merry band of idiot's visited almost religiously in Los Angeles. It was almost amusing how easily the Senior Partners had duped Angel – almost.

If the King of Hair Gel actually thought he had any power; any control of what Wolfram and Hart was doing beyond LA then he was more of an idiot than Xander had always assumed the vampire to be.

The rescue operation had been surprisingly quick; they'd located her in a private hospital in Texas of all places – Texas for crying out loud! Its location and the fact that it wasn't part of Wolfram and Harts LA holdings all the protection the damned demonic law firm thought it needed to keep Angel from getting suspicious and going to looking for her. The rent-a-cops, doctors, nurses and low-level psychics they had guarding the place were no problem – a few well placed bullets and some classified psi-suppression technology later and they were In—it was almost comical watching the psychics try to use their powers and fail while getting a bullet in the head. No one was going to lose sleep over them; they'd soled their souls to the Senior Partners after all. They'd quickly found her room and when he'd laid eyes on her all he wanted to do was torture Angel for a century for not seeing how easily he'd been played.

She lay there in a hospital bed – asleep and tied down no less – looking frail and malnourished; _barely alive_ really. His rage had surged, to see her like that, so frail and tiny, a mere shadow of the powerful woman who had captured his hart all those years ago. To see what Jasmine, Wolfram, Hart and Angel's egotism had done to her. It had taken all of his self-control not to march down to LA and raise the Wolfram and Hart offices to the ground. For a brief moment, he had frozen – unable to accept that it was her – that this could have happened to his first love. Unable to accept that he hadn't known what was going on; that he didn't have the power to stop it. He'd moved into the room and checked her chart, surprised to find that while being kept week and sedated, she was otherwise the picture of health with no long term damaged from Jasmine hijacking her body or those damned visions, all she needed was a healthy diet and plenty o exercise to get her back in fighting form.

He'd felt nothing but utter contempt for the Senior Partners – and though he hated to admit it a begrudging respect for their _deviousness_ – there was no way Cordelia could affect her own rescue, and since no one knew that she was there no one would rescue her. The bloody bastards had probably cooked up some insidiously over complicated plan to use her against Angel at some later point – and there was no way he would ever allow that!

Then she'd awoken, looked him dead in his one remaining eye and uttered his name like a prayer, his heart had almost broken on the spot. Her face had hardened – and he understood – she thought it wasn't him, that it was some kind of trick, some attempt by the Senior Partners to manipulate her to their own ends. Any lingering guilt he might have felt for the people he had been party to killing evaporated. Anyone who could be a party to it was unworthy of his remorse. It had taken all of his willpower to stop his emotions from showing. He'd moved over to the bed, unstrapped her arms and legs and spent the next hour convincing her that he was in fact who he said he was; that he was there to get her out of that Hellhole.

That Wolfram and Hart were going to pay dearly for what they had done to her. When she'd finally let her guard down, she'd hugged him for dear life. Burying her face in his chest, her arms locked around him in a vice like grip. She'd had a long overdue emotional breakdown; she'd pulled back from him grinning impishly, a shadow of her former 'megawatt' smile but hers none the less.

"My Hero." She'd teased gently. God he had wanted to crawl away and die then and there, she would never let him live this one down; she'd be teasing him for years.

Without a further word he'd gotten her out of their and transferred to Bethesda Naval Hospital were decent human beings had checked her over and he'd called in the Devon Coven in to check for anything the demonic bastards had done to her. Thankfully they'd found nothing. She endured spell after spell, test after test...and the _unmitigated horror_ of hospital food. He'd stayed by her side constantly giving her whatever support she needed. Most of the time Cordelia slept giving him nothing but time alone with his own thoughts, to consider his next move.

There was no way he could keep her in the states – not safely anyway – the senior partners had too much power there, too much influence in all the right places, and when they found out what he'd done they would be coming for them both. The only pace he could guarantee her safety was in Scotland, in the _Councils Headquarters_. And convincing her of that had been no small feat. In fact it had been damned _near impossible_ – she wanted to go back to LA – back to Angel and the others and pound some common sense into them all. She'd stubbornly dug her heels in while he tried not to grin like an utter loon.

She was the real deal – definitely the woman he had fallen for in high school – state her opinion's and stand by them!

Eventually she'd relented – but not admitted he was right – that would have been too much to ask. Recover first – bitch Angel a new one second – it had been a small miracle moving her to Scotland and getting her in to the castle without anyone knowing. He supposed that if he were ever hard up for a job he could take up smuggling. The only consolation was that Buffy was still up in Rome with that _creep_ The Immortal, Dawn was attending College in San Francisco and Willow was still off dimension hopping...so he's only had to pull off getting by Giles and the Slayers and Giles was so busy these days, he barely had time to acknowledge that Xander existed – and telling any of the newly awakened Slayers had been out of the question – he just couldn't trust them with someone this important to him.

So when she had asked for Giles he'd fought her tooth and nail, but in the end he'd ended up relenting.

"He needs to know Xan," she'd pleaded with him, "what happened – what Willow didn't tell any of you after getting back from LA – all of it."

As she explained everything in graphic detail he was first confused, then incandescent with fury. Despite all of Willows platitudes and assurances that shed actually learned something from the Devon Coven here he was, confronted with direct evidence to the contrary. If she's only told them what had been going on in LA, they might have realised that something was wrong – and maybe, just maybe – they could have stopped it or at least done something to help. After he'd calmed down he'd dome as she asked, brought Giles to her. She'd repeated to Giles what she'd told him; everything from joining up with Angel to Jasmine.

The look on Giles face was all he needed to know that Willow was in for a visit from "Ripper" when she got back, and oddly he couldn't bring himself to care or try to defend his best friend since kindergarten. Frankly he thought she was in desperate need of a _humbling_ of late, she was so flushed with pride after activating all the Slayers...but wasn't giving any consideration to the long term consequences of what they had done. For the first time in his life he was unsure if he could, or even _should_ trust her — there were days he just didn't recognise her anymore, like he was talking to a complete stranger.

The truly sad part of it all was that he was actually ok with that. He'd become so jaded and cynical over the years and hadn't noticed it creeping up on him. Paranoia had become a way of life for him and he'd found a strange kind of peace in it...a sense of balance in his life he'd always lacked before.

"What the bloody hell was that girl thinking?" Giles had raged.

He hadn't answered. Honestly hadn't wanted to...he had some choice ideas as to precisely what Willow was thinking, but it had been better for him to keep his mouth shut and say nothing as the Watcher tried to get himself under control. He really hadn't wanted to piss Giles off anymore than he already had been. Surprisingly Cordy had calmed him down her tone of voice sending shivers down his spine. He'd known that tone all too well in Sunnydale. It was that quiet, calm tone she'd always used when she was really upset. It was a tone he'd sincerely wished _never_ to hear again...as the last time she'd used it, it had been directed at him.

Giles had made a hasty retreat and spent the next week getting Buffy back from Rome and tracking down Willow. The week had drawn out into a near eternity, his time divided between work, and staying by Cordelia's side. Giles called in a few favours...and a few rituals later, not to mention profuse amounts of stuff that smelt so bad he didn't want to know where it had come from and she was back in fighting form and bitchy as ever before. A fact attested to by her taking over his office and getting it in to a _semblance of order_ – even if her filing system – _made absolutely no sense to anyone but her._

He'd supposed that he shouldn't have been surprised it was so like her...and in all honesty he had been glad of the help, there were days trying to keep track of anything in that damned office had been a trial. Not to mention how she'd effectively she'd cowed the Slayers and whipped them into shape – _especially Kennedy_ – he'd only wished he'd had a camera to record the moment for posterity.

There was no doubt on anyone's mind that she was the _"Alpha Female"_ of the castle.

Hell by the end of the week she was effectively running the whole damned show – she'd snap her fingers and bitch at someone and things would get done – he could tell that Giles was conflicted, the man hadn't know whether to be glad or terrified by the situation, on one hand it was saving them both so much work, but on the other their authority had been usurped so easily.

Then She'd caught him alone in his office – practically dominating the room – she'd stalked towards him like a predator hunting her prey and drawn him into a kiss.

A kiss unlike any he'd received before.

Back in high school their kisses had been frantic and impassioned. This one was so full of warmth, sensuality and promise it mad every hair on his body stand on end. He couldn't help himself; his arms slipped around her waist pulling her tightly against him and had deepened the kiss loosing himself in the moment. They'd pulled away, eyes locked on each other as an echo of something they'd once shared passed between them.

"What was that for?" He'd asked.

She'd grinned impishly. "Saving me – duh – what are you deficient or something, Harris?"

"Guess I'll have to do it more often then." He'd grinned back.

She'd slapped him upside the head playfully. "Pervert."

Her big reveal when Buffy and Willow had finally deigned to grace them with their presence had been nothing short of _Oscar winning_. Buffy and Willow had strolled into his office like they owned the place only to find him standing in the corner of the room looking grave. While Cordy sat at his desk filling her nails. She's looked up at them with feigned interest and then shifted her expression to one of supreme boredom.

"Oh, _it's only you two_ – I thought it might be someone important."

Buffy was naturally the first to recover. "Cordy?" she'd questioned unsurely.

She'd snorted. "The one and only _bottle blonde_, you wouldn't believe the kind of four-years I've had. I mean seriously it was like something a burning out group of fiction writers would come up with!"

Willow had simply gaped, then clamed up, her whole body radiating barely repressed shame.

"What's wrong Willow," Cordy had demanded snidely, "cat got your tongue?"

Willow had spluttered incoherently.

"Funny isn't it?" Cordy had gone on, "how you never mentioned anything to anybody about what was going on with us up in LA. How I was acting so completely out of character it wasn't funny, and anyone who knew should have noticed. Right now though I really don't care what your major malfunction is 'softer side' I have more important thing to deal with like knocking some common sense into Angel and that merry band of idiots I consider friends. And then taking _bloody revenge_ of the Senior Partners for what they've done to me and the rest of the world. So I warn you now, don't get in my way, or you will live to regret it, this is my show now, you can either shape up or ship out!"

The queen was back – Long Live the Queen.

FIN?

11


End file.
